Page 46 of Saving Little Clark

Still, ever the stubborn boy, he fought valiantly against the pull of sleep, reaching out to curl small fingers into the fabric of my shirt. "Stay?" he pleaded, voice slightly slurred.

I smiled. "Of course," I whispered, dropping a kiss to his hair. "Daddy's not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up, I promise."

"Okay," he sighed, burrowing deeper into his nest of blankets.

As I settled onto the bed beside him, pulling him close until his head rested on my chest, he let out a shuddering sigh. His fingers plucked restlessly at the fabric of my shirt, a telltale sign of anxiety.

"What's on your mind?" I murmured, stroking a soothing hand down his back. "Talk to Daddy."

In a voice barely above a whisper, he confessed, "When I was little, like really little... I used to be so scared of the dark. I'd cry and cry for my mom and dad, but they never came. Told me I was too old to be scared of the dark."

My heart clenched painfully at the thought of a tiny, frightened Clark, all alone in the dark with no one to comfort him. Instinctively, I tightened my arms around him, dropping a fierce kiss to his hair.

"Oh, sweetheart," I breathed. "You'll never have to feel that way again. Not while I'm here.”

That earned me a soft giggle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, he was suddenly pushing himself upright, bouncing a little in place as a thought visibly struck him.

"Ooh!" he chirped, all traces of melancholy vanished. "Will you tell me a bedtime story?”

I made a show of thinking hard, tapping my chin and squinting off into the distance. He giggled again, tucking himself against my side in anticipation.

"Alright, I've got it," I declared after a suitably dramatic pause. "Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a brave little T-Rex named Nugget…"

As I spun the whimsical tale, Clark hung on my every word, eyes wide and sparkling in the low light. At one point, I even leaped off the bed to act out a particularly dramatic action scene, much to Clark's shrieking delight. He clapped and bounced in place, cheering me on as I darted around the room, vanquishing invisible foes.

As I flopped back onto the mattress, panting and grinning, I saw Clark stifle a yawn behind his hand.

"Uh oh," I sing-songed. "Looks like someone's starting to get sleepy. You know what that means!"

Clark pouted, but the effect was ruined by another yawn, so big his eyes watered with it. I was already reaching for the bottle of warm milk I'd prepared earlier. He took the bottle and popped the nipple into his mouth. His eyelids fluttered at the first sweet pull, face going lax with drowsy contentment.

Soon, empty bottle dangled forgotten from his lax fingers as his head lolled against my collarbone. I gently pried the bottleaway and set it aside. He stirred briefly, smacking his lips, but settled again when I wrapped my arms snugly around his middle and began to sing.

On the last line, I gave an exaggerated yawn, stretching my arms high overhead. Clark copied me sleepily, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists.

"Night, Daddy," he slurred, head tipping back to rest on my shoulder.

I froze, in awe and pure, unadulterated joy. For a moment, I could only gape, stunned speechless by the magnitude of this tiny, precious confession. It was the first time he had called me Daddy.

But then reality came crashing back in the form of Clark bolting upright with a panicked gasp, wild eyes locking on mine as the blood drained from his face.

"I didn't mean…" he stammered, voice high and thready with distress. His lower lip trembled dangerously. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"Shh, baby bug, breathe," I soothed, cupping his face in my palms. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He shook his head frantically. "But I called you Daddy," he whispered, equal parts wonder and terror. As if bracing for rejection, for harsh laughter and disgust.

"Clark," I said, infusing his name with every ounce of tenderness. "My sweet boy. Light of my life. You can call me Daddy whenever you want, however you want. Because that's what I am. That's what I want to be, for as long as you'll have me."

His eyes went impossibly wide, face slack with shock. His fingers spasmed where they clutched at my biceps, knuckles white with tension. "Really?"

I simply leaned in and captured his mouth in a feather-light kiss, barely more than a whispery brush of lips.

"Really," I breathed against the trembling silk of his mouth. "I love you, Clark. I love every part of you. You're it for me, baby. My one and only."

The next thing I knew, I had a lapful of warm, wriggling boy, narrow arms banded so tightly around my neck I could scarcely draw breath.

"Daddy," he gasped into my neck, hot and damp.

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